Do Something For Me
by Scription Addict
Summary: In Celebration of Sue Johnston's birthday, based around waterloo, Grace's perspective.


**Do Something for me**

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><p><strong>Happy Birthday Sue, this is in celebration of Sue's birthday, told from Grace's perspective, and based at the end of the first day of the Waterloo episode, hope you enjoy.<strong>

**Disclaimer - I own nothing**

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><p>Grace walked out of the derelict bird in hand pub and could see Boyd facing away from her. He was clearly shaken by the things he had seen, the things that the basement of that disused building contained. It was sickening to all of them, but to him, to a man who had lost his son to the streets, a man whose son could have so easily become a victim of this sick bastard, to him, it was unbearable.<p>

She walked up behind him and gently placed her hand on his back. He instantly flinched, she left her hand there for just seconds, gently trying to soothe his pain, but she knew he was a man who didn't do tea and sympathy. Peter Boyd was a man's man, as a psychologist, he was her worst nightmare. He didn't show emotions, didn't talk about his feelings, and definitely didn't do touchy feely comforting, not for himself or those around him, the closest she ever got to physical contact with him was a pat on the back, the occasional squeeze of her shoulder. As a woman, however, he was her dream, her fantasy, those broad shoulders and firm chest, the silver hair and the very upright posture, that deep baritone voice that could leave you trembling in fear or quivering with excitement.

He turned and walked back towards the pub, speaking to Eve. She paid no heed to what he was saying, she was still miles away, as the others left and just the two of them remained he spoke to her, talking about the case, of course, not his feelings, little did he know how much she wanted to throw her arms around him, and just hold him, to comfort him and wipe away the tears that were only ever on the verge of falling.

They worked late on the case, and it was almost midnight before either of them left the office that night. Grace arrived home to her cold and empty house, a house that had remained just hers for far too long, a house that had never seen or heard the joy of children, a house that had, for many years now, been hers and hers alone, was she lonely? Not that she would ever admit! To anyone else she was happy and content with her own company. She'd done the whole love and relationship thing, and it hadn't worked out. However, at times, when she was alone with her thoughts, she would admit, just to herself, that yes she was lonely, and yes she regretted that her previous relationships had led to nothing, and most of all she regretted never having children, never hearing the sound of those little feet running around the house, never listening to the laughter of a child at play.

Today's announcement brought with it an entirely new set of feelings. She was cool and calm on the outside, when he'd told them, he had been ordered to step down. She had shown a little shock, but nothing more. However, nowshe was at home, and now she wanted to scream and shout, how could they do this, how could they destroy the best working relationship she had ever had, how could they destroy her world, his world, their worlds? She knew he was approaching retirement age, and eventually he'd be shipped off to a desk job, but why now, so suddenly, without warning, he was good at his job, bloody good at it, and she couldn't imagine staying at the CCU if he wasn't there. The thought of trying to build an entirely new relationship with someone new, it made her feel cold. Nobody likes change. All of us fear it a little, but at this time of her life, she wasn't prepared to go through it, which really left her only one option, retirement! Yes, the dreaded R word that she had managed to keep at bay for so long. Maybe she could concentrate on her writing, her research. Her lectures. She was an expert in her field, and would probably never have time to get bored, even if she retired, the trouble was, she knew damn well it wasn't about the job, or the change. It was about the loss of a man she had grown close to, closer than she had been to any man in a long long time. Yes, he was a friend, just a friend, nothing more, never anything more, but that didn't mean that it wasn't what she wanted. The thought of not seeing him everyday, the thought of him not in her life was almost reducing her to tears.

She made herself a warm drink, and was about to go up to bed, when there was a knock at the door. She opened the door slightly, the security chain still in place.

"Hi Grace, I'm sorry I know it's late, but I was hoping we could talk."

"It's okay, come in." She opened the door to him, and he closed it behind himself.

He took the cup from her hand and replaced it with a bottle of wine, "I thought you might fancy one of these."

"Well it's a little late, but I think I can manage one." She replied with a small smile on her face.

He hung up his jacket and walked through to her lounge. He knew the layout of her home very well, through nine years of working together they had spent many an evening in each other's company, at his place or hers, discussing a case over a bottle, or two. Grace returned and handed him a glass of the rose wine he had brought with him.

"Thanks, and cheers." He replied, gently clinking his glass to hers.

"Cheers. So what brings you here at this ungodly hour then?"

"Well, I wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah I got that bit, what about?"

"About earlier, when we talked about my finishing at the unit, when you said that my first thought wasn't about the job, it was about Luke."

"Okay, was I right?"

He nodded his head, "Yeah you were right. I miss him Grace." His words were almost a whisper.

"I know you do."

"Do you?"

"Yes I do. He was your son, your only son, your only child, and you lost him in the most awful of circumstances. He was a young man and he had his whole life ahead of him, and it was taken away by an addiction that he couldn't cure himself of. He lived a life dogged by addiction, a life where he would do anything to get the money to pay for the drugs that were slowly killing him, and he died at the hands of a woman who thought she had the right to help him on his way, who thought he was just another homeless junkie that nobody gave a toss about. But he wasn't he had you, a father who loved him, but who found it hard to show that love until it was too late."

"I did love him Grace, but I don't know if I ever told him, I can't remember telling him."

"Sometimes we convince ourselves that we never said these things. We doubt ourselves, doubt our love, but you would have said it to him, many times, you've just blocked it out because you think you were the worst father in the world, but you weren't. You never neglected him. You never abused him. You just didn't have enough time for him, so you think it was all your fault. He knew you loved him Boyd."

"Did he? I still have all his belongings, the football net in the garden. His old games console. The posters are still on the walls in his bedroom, his stereo and CD's. It's all still up there, just how he left it. Even his bike is in the garage. I haven't had the heart to get rid of it, even though I know it's pointless to keep it."

"It's not pointless. It has a purpose. It helps you to remember what he was like, he wasn't just a junkie, he was a boy, a normal boy who loved football and music. He was your son. He was Luke, and whatever helps you to remember the real person, is a good thing, and if you keep it forever it will never be pointless."

Boyd took his wallet from his pocket, and pulled out a photo, "This was him, the real him." The picture was of Luke aged about 12. It was a school photo. Luke was in his uniform, a dark-red blazer and tie with a white shirt. He was smiling, just like any other normal happy boy.

"He looks like you."

"Does he? Poor kid." He replied with a little laugh, "Grace will you do something for me?"

"If I can."

"Hold me, I just want someone to hold me, no, not just someone, I want youto hold me."

Grace put her hand to his neck and gently pulled his head to her shoulder. He slid his hands around her waist and held onto her as she held onto him, one hand gently rubbing up and down his back, the other resting on his neck, his body started to shudder just slightly as he sobbed against her neck, she could feel his tears against her skin, and she knew that this was a turning point for him, and who knows, maybe for them too.


End file.
